I was at our friendly neighborhood mega mulch mart a couple of weeks ago, and it appeared as though I had somehow missed some universal homeowner memo requiring the purchase of multiple bags of mulch. Do Homeowner Associations mandate this sort of thing? Are the color options limited? One can only hope that the red stuff is a violation.
I did start to get a little worried about the prospect of a time when the mulch bags run out, when all that is left is a ripped bag of the maxi bark chunks the size of a bar of Ivory soap. It is 2012, after all.
I remember a time when only a tiny minority mulched their landscapes (or even referred to their yards as “landscapes”–those were pictures above the couch), and most of them used white pebbles, and strategically planted skinny tufts of grass amidst the stones at random intervals, presumably intended to create a sense of whimsical informality. It was a God-awful time in landscape history.
No, I am not a Geritol customer, but I have what may be a disproportionate awareness of the past of my parents. I think it is safe to say that folks who have early memories of the Great Depression and WWII tend to be less vigorous mulchmasters than, for instance, Reagan era Young Republicans. Granted, it takes a darned spritely octogenarian to spread more than a cut off half-gallon milk jug full of mulch, but it’s more than that. Much, much more. It has been suggested in some academic circles that the rise of the mulch nation and its obsession with putting freshly colored stuff on top of everything may, in fact, have been a tribute to Reagan’s own ever-youthful hair color. Will this man’s contributions ever cease to amaze? I know.
This all begs the sobering question: what will you do when the mulch runs out? Are you prepared to live without it? Or will you be among the numbers shredding dining room furniture?